


An Inconvenient Shooting

by ununpentium



Series: Hamish Watson-Holmes [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ununpentium/pseuds/ununpentium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three weeks before Christmas and a gun wielding criminal shoots Sherlock in front of John and their three year old son Hamish.</p><p>Hamish gives an unexpected Christmas gift to Sherlock who is recovering from the shooting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Inconvenient Shooting

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hamish](https://archiveofourown.org/works/329656) by [Valeria2067](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067). 



> I did want to write a fluffy Christmas fic, and it turned into this!
> 
> The Hamish Watson-Holmes series is a series of vignettes inspired by Valeria2067's Hamish. They are written as my muse inspires me, and may or may not eventually follow a bigger story arc.

There was a distinct Christmassy feel to the air. Don’t ask John what that felt like, because he couldn’t tell you, but he just knew that Christmas was around the corner and the atmosphere was festive. He enjoyed walking along the residential streets close to Baker Street with Hamish clutching on to his hand, marvelling at the twinkling Christmas lights that people had strung up across their houses. This was Hamish’s third Christmas and he was getting increasingly excited every day that passed, babbling nonstop to Sherlock about Santa. John had given Sherlock a glare that simply said “do not spoil this for our son”.

A quiet Saturday afternoon three weeks before Christmas saw John, Sherlock and Hamish ambling through Regent’s Park, walking along the edge of the boating lake. Hamish was pointing excitedly at a flock of geese gliding peacefully across the water.

“We should start getting some Christmas presents, Sherlock. I imagine Mycroft is a hard person to buy for.”

Sherlock scrunched up his face.

“Do we have to buy him anything? Can’t I just send him a lump of coal?”

John pushed at Sherlock’s shoulder playfully with the hand that was not holding on to Hamish’s.

“No, we have to find him something proper. And for Greg. I suppose we could get them a joint present.”

Sherlock sighed, though his voice lacked any real irritation. John bent down to Hamish who was still pointing at the geese and Sherlock allowed himself to look at his little family and smile. He had never anticipated meeting someone and having a child, though now he had these things he could not imagine it being any other way.

Sherlock was just about to crouch down next to John and Hamish; he hated missing out on all of the fun, when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock turned his head sharply and stepped in front of John and Hamish, blocking their view. A small, haggard looking man emerged from behind the boating shed and Sherlock’s gaze immediately fixated on to the man’s right hand. He was holding a gun.

“John? Why don’t you take Hamish and see if you can find that present then, hmm?” Sherlock said in what he hoped was a calm and steady voice, still looking directly at the gun.

John stood up, smiling, reaching out to thread his arm through Sherlock’s when he noticed Sherlock’s rigid posture. He saw where Sherlock’s gaze was directed and every muscle in John’s body tensed.

“Sherlock Holmes,” the small man sneered, stepping slowly closer to Sherlock. “I have unfinished business with you.”

Sherlock glanced back over his shoulder at where John was holding tightly on to Hamish who looked visibly confused.

“John, take Hamish and run,” the urgency in Sherlock’s voice sent John’s adrenaline racing and his grip tightened on Hamish’s shoulders.

“They go no-where,” the man with the gun shouted, brandishing the gun further, a wild look in his eyes.

“Your business is with me. Let them go and we can talk,” Sherlock replied, swallowing down his fear.

“You don’t even remember me? Oh, that just takes the biscuit,” the short man started to laugh manically. Sherlock could hear Hamish whimpering behind him and he knew he needed to do _something_ to protect his family. He stepped closer to the man, eyes roaming over his clothes, observing every detail, even down to the mud splatter on his shoes.

_Oh._

“You’re Ian Matthews.” Obvious.

“Ah, finally, we’re getting somewhere. Yes, I was released from prison this morning, no thanks to you.” Ian had crept even closer to Sherlock. Sherlock could still see John and Hamish in his peripheral vision; John had almost entirely blocked Hamish from view now but held his arm out uncomfortably behind him for Hamish told hold on to, the other hand in his coat pocket.

“It was unfortunate, I agree, but you had committed a series of house burglaries and stolen some incredibly valuable items.”

“And I would have got away and started a new life in Spain had it not been for you, Sherlock,” Ian spat, taking another step closer.

“You’re not a killer, Ian. You’ve never handled a firearm in your life; you don’t want to do this. Put the gun down and we can talk properly,” Sherlock could see Ian’s hand quivering, the gun shaking along with it. Sherlock lunged for the gun as Ian raised his right hand and blindly fired, closing his eyes as his finger pressed the trigger.

Sherlock felt the impact of the bullet as it tore into his stomach. White hot pain flared outwards, shooting through his veins and he collapsed, limbs flailing. The last thing he heard was the sound of Hamish’s screams.

~*~*~

“Is Pa going to die?” Hamish peered up at John through his tears. John tightened his arms around Hamish who was sitting on John’s lap, facing him.

“I don’t know Hal. He’s having an operation. Do you know what that is?”

Hamish shook his head slowly, his brown curls painfully reminding John of Sherlock.

“It’s where the doctors need to fix someone because they have been badly hurt, or got really ill. It hurts when they fix someone, so the person has to be asleep.”

Hamish’s eyes filled with fresh tears and his bottom lip trembled.

“I don’t want Pa to be hurted,” his voice wobbled, “he, he, he looked very hurted when the nasty man made him fall over. There was red stuff everywhere, the red stuff that came out of my knee when I fell over. That really hurted and I don’t want Pa to hurt, Daddy.” Hamish buried his face in John’s chest. John fought to keep his own tears at bay; he wanted to remain strong for his son. Sherlock had been in surgery for two hours- the doctors had explained that the bullet had missed the major organs but had caused a lot of tissue damage and internal bleeding that urgently needed to be controlled.

The door to the operating theatre opened and a nurse stepped out, removing her face mask and gloves.

“How is he?” John asked urgently.

“Sherlock is being moved to intensive care. We managed to stop the bleeding, but he isn’t out of the woods yet. He needs to be carefully monitored in case he starts bleeding internally again. I’m sure you understand that with internal bleeding things can get very serious very quickly.”

John nodded gravely.

“Sherlock’s consultant will be out to talk to you soon and then you’ll be able to see Sherlock once he’s been stabilised in ICU.”

John smiled weakly at the nurse who smiled sympathetically back and walked back into the operating theatre.

John let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes. Sherlock was alive.

~*~*~

The first thing Sherlock was aware of was a hand gripping his, and an overwhelming stench of disinfectant. He shifted slightly and an arrow of pain shot through his stomach. He quickly hypothesized that he was in hospital, but he needed to open his eyes to make sure. Opening his eyes was harder than he had previously remembered. He managed to crack one open and immediately shut it again at the shock of light flooding in.

“Sherlock? Are you awake?” The hand gripping his tightened. _John_. Sherlock concentrated on John’s voice and willed his eyes to open.

“John,” Sherlock rasped, his throat sore from being intubated during surgery. John looked into Sherlock’s grey eyes and he crumbled, the fear and exhaustion catching up with him. John’s whole body shuddered as he sobbed, gasping for breath.

“Sherlock, I th-thought you were g-going to die.”

“’M sorry,” Sherlock croaked, silent tears winding their way down his cheek.

“You’re n-not allowed to d-die, Sherlock. You can’t leave me and Hamish.” Sherlock tightened his grip on John’s hand.

“Where is Hamish? Is he alright?” Sherlock asked urgently.

“Yeah, he’s fine. Well, quite shaken, but he’s at Mycroft and Greg’s. Children aren’t allowed onto intensive care.”

John climbed carefully onto the bed next to Sherlock and curled up next to his husband, careful not to jostle his wound. John pressed his face into Sherlock’s neck, wet from his tears, and inhaled deeply.

“I was trying to protect you and Hamish,” Sherlock voice reverberated through John’s body.

“Yeah and you bloody got yourself shot. I was trying to text Greg from my pocket, I’m not quite the technological wizard that you are I’m afraid, but I would have done it.”

Sherlock lay there in silence.

“We need some kind of alarm. It seems like we find ourselves in precarious situations with alarming frequency,” John continued.

“I’ll get Mycroft onto it immediately,” Sherlock mumbled, drifting back off into sleep.

~*~*~

Two days later and Sherlock had been moved to a general surgical ward and Hamish was allowed to visit.

“Hamish, be careful of Pa’s stomach. It hurts, remember?”

John lifted Hamish onto Sherlock’s bed and Hamish looked at him wearily.

“The scary man isn’t going to come back?”

“No, Hamish, he isn’t. Uncle Greg and Uncle Mycroft have made sure he has been locked away,” Sherlock replied sombrely.

“You got hurted and fell over. There was a loud bang and it hurted my ears and I was scared,” Hamish’s eyes once again filled with tears. Sherlock held his hand out towards his son.

“Come here, Hamish. Give me a hug. See, I’m fine now! It’s okay.”

Hamish crawled slowly up the bed until he was curled up in Sherlock’s lap, being careful not to wriggle and aggravate Sherlock’s wound.

Sherlock peered over Hamish and up at John.

“How are Greg and Mycroft?”

John huffed out a laugh.

“Greg said that as soon as you recovered from your operation he’d come up here and kill you himself.”

Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a smile.

“Ah. I feared that may be the case. You’ll have to guard the door, John.” John chuckled softly and took hold of Sherlock’s free hand, tracing circles with his fingers on Sherlock’s palm.

~*~*~

Sherlock had finally been discharged from hospital a week later. John suspected that it was a mixture of Sherlock’s increasingly hurtful ‘deductions’ and some heavy handedness from Mycroft that had persuaded Sherlock’s consultant to discharge him early, on the conditions that John would continue to administer his pain medication and re-dress the gunshot wound daily.

John tried to persuade Sherlock to rest in his bed, but Sherlock declared beds the most boring things on earth and instead decided that the sofa was the place to be. With the aid of some cushions he managed to sit up in a position that did not put stress on his stomach, and he had his laptop and blackberry within arm’s reach.

John was mindful that a lively child was not conducive to proper recovery, and tried to keep Hamish out of the flat as much as possible. Hamish, however, had other ideas. He kept finding things that he declared were for Pa and John didn’t have the heart to deny him.

John and Hamish returned from an evening walk around the streets, looking once again at the Christmas lights, and Hamish bounded over to where Sherlock was lying on the sofa, reading a forensic science journal.

“Pa!” Hamish exclaimed excitedly, “look!”

Sherlock closed his journal, placed it on the floor, and focused his attention on his son.

“What have you got there, Hamish?”

Hamish extended a chubby hand and proudly showed Sherlock a snail’s shell he had found on his walk.

“Oh, that is glorious. Well done Hamish! A snail’s shell.”

Hamish broke into a large grin and toddled towards John, who was looking at Sherlock with a fond expression.

“He saw it and declared it was for you, I couldn’t persuade him to leave it behind.”

Sherlock turned the shell over in his fingers.

“It’s fine. It is actually quite a nice specimen. John, bring me my microscope!”

“No you daft idiot, that thing weighs a ton and I don’t want you getting all excited and rupturing your stitches. They’re due out soon and I want to make sure you don’t mess it all up now.”

Sherlock pouted.

“Fine. But you have to keep it safe for me until I can use my microscope.”

~*~*~

Christmas day finally rolled around and Sherlock was able to move around almost without pain, though he still had to make sure that the three year old whirlwind that was Hamish did not barrel into him.

John descended the stairs carefully, carrying an armful of presents.

“I’m sorry it’s not much this year. Actually, no, I’m not sorry! It’s your fault Sherlock, it was really inconvenient of you to get shot three weeks before Christmas.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and helped his husband arrange the presents on the floor.

“Right, Hal, these are for you!” John pushed the majority of the presents towards Hamish who clambered off of the sofa and enthusiastically started ripping open the wrapping paper, shrieking excitedly. Sherlock thought that Hamish would get more excitement out of the packing than the actual toys themselves.

John settled himself on the sofa next to Sherlock as they watched their son run around with pieces of wrapping paper wrapped around him.

Soon Hamish grew tired of his enthusiastic appreciation of the wrapping paper and stood in front of his parents on the sofa, swaying slightly.

“I have a present for Pa!” Sherlock and John exchanged an amused look, neither of them were aware that their son had done any gift making.

“Where is the present, Hal?” John asked.

“In m’room Daddy. I’m gonna go get it!” Hamish toddled off towards his bedroom, which was Sherlock’s old room behind the kitchen. Sherlock now shared John’s room upstairs, it was slightly on the small side but they were comfortable, and Hamish seemed to be forever acquiring new toys and they had to be kept somewhere.

Hamish barrelled back into the living room and stood proudly in front of Sherlock clutching his special blanket.

“Pa, this is blanky. Blanky makes me feel safe, and and and I think you should have blanky so you don’t get hurted again.” Hamish thrust the well-worn, tatty blanket at Sherlock, who accepted it reverently from his son.

“Hamish, are you sure? You don’t sleep without blanky. Are you sure you want me to have him?”

Hamish nodded seriously.

“Blanky will make you safe, Pa.”

John reached down and lifted Hamish onto the sofa between him and Sherlock. John looked at Sherlock who looked suspiciously like he was crying but trying hard not to let it show.

John pressed a kiss to the top of Hamish’s head.

“That was a really lovely thing you did for Pa, Hal. I’m proud of you.”

Hamish snuggled in closer to John and closed his eyes, already succumbing to sleep.

~*~*~

Two weeks after Christmas and Sherlock and John were once again on the trail of a criminal. They had been running through Covent Garden after a man who had framed his wife for murder, and Sherlock had stopped to catch his breath, not quite at his peak level of fitness after the shooting. John caught up with Sherlock and nodded. As Sherlock turned, ready to resume running, John saw the corner of blanky poking out from the pocket of Sherlock’s coat. John smiled.


End file.
